LOST
by kage-kurokawa
Summary: prologue: There's something unusual...Rating may change in the future. no warnings yet except that the author writes crap. XD most probably 83 in the future. dunno. pls. R&R.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The usual… I still don't own Saiyuki…

A/N: Ah… it's nice to be back. Well, sort of. It's been a month! Remind me never to take those workaholic professors next time. : )

Just got back from a looong break (wished it was longer!) on the day after the application for the santa project in the 83 ml ended. Isn't life painfully ironic? I wanted to join!!! (Sniff, sniff!) Oh well maybe next time…

Anyway, arigatoo to those who reviewed! Helped a lot. Really appreciated. Maybe in time I might actually improve (in dreamtime). And learn to give proper warnings. hehehe… still trying to get a hang of this writing thingy… so I'll just continue experimenting for the time being.

Before I begin some quick msgs for the revs on my last 2 fics:

To Rasinah: thanks lots! and yep, I agree that the rain is a tad overused. And well hakkai was really supposed to be ooc in the last fic. Should have put the right warning. : )

To Chaosd: lotsa thanks, hopefully I'll learn. and try. don't expect anything though... : )

To Xcryptor: thanks. kage in your class, you say? Don't think it's me though. : )

To others: Thank you very much for bearing with me. Hehehe!

I missed doodling some fics… so I just doodled another one. Kinda informal…I don't know…but what the heck. here goes…

Lost by Kage Kurokawa

Prologue: Unusual

It was a hot, humid day. The kind of day that makes people wish they were staying at home, relaxing inside a cool, comfortable room with some refreshing icy beverage in hand. And not caught in a vast desert that lay under the blistering heat of the midday sun. Seeing the said desert stretching for miles down the horizon with no village or oasis in sight does not exactly help matters in any way. The whole place is dry. Parched. Searing. Lifeless. Silent. Only to be broken by the occasional screams of some birds of prey flying overhead in search of some unfortunate creature to feast on for lunch.

However, today is a most unusual day for this arid landscape because the sound of a roaring engine can be heard as one vehicle sped its way in the midst of the desert, leaving clouds of smoke and sand in its trail. Travelers, human or otherwise, very seldom, if at all, bother to traverse this long, dry, and difficult path. And those who do so are often deemed and labeled as either thoughtlessly brave, or just plain foolish. Many of them don't usually last very long and mainly end up as some main course for the predatory desert creatures. Thus, a small, brown army jeep traveling in the middle of the day looks quite out of place in the badlands. Let us set aside the fact that this jeep actually transforms into a dragon. As for its occupants, well, they may be a tad crazy, after all. They are anything but normal. They have this certain mission to accomplish. It's not really of any importance. Just something about going to the west, kicking some super-uberdemon butt, and saving the world from plunging into total chaos. Piece of cake. It's something they do everyday.

Today would have been just another day for them too. Would have been. Traveling in places such as this is quite common for them. Almost like a routine really. However, some noticeable things are quite uncommon with this company today. Most evident is the stifling silence that hangs in the usually 'lively' atmosphere of this jeep especially when they pass dehydrated terrains like this. Silence and seriousness during a drive were out of the ordinary and had no real place in this company. Today there were no throbbing veins, no never-ending grumbles about the weather, or about endless growling stomachs, or the pestering about how long it takes to get to the nearest villages. No arguments. No fights. No shouting. No soft laughter. No words. It's like everyone's gone mute. There is no whacking of a certain infamous fan, nor are there bullets raining from the sky. It's almost as if an angel passed in the midst of an unruly crowd and hushed everyone in sight.

That must be good right? Right?

Not really.

At least not for this particular group of young travelers (who don't believe in angels by the way). Though it must be noted that silence used to be a very welcome idea indeed. In fact, one would usually see this certain white-robed, sutra-bearing renowned figure threatening, hitting and shooting his way to achieve the quietude that he wishes. At least for a brief period of time. The kind of silence that exists at the moment however is not the welcomed type of silence. This stillness is different. This is the kind of quiet that usually means something is up. Something that bodes no good at all. Not good indeed.

Another thing not quite right with this scenario is that the jeep seems to be acting quite funny today, plowing through the desert wastelands recklessly, and at breakneck speed as if it is being driven by some possessed, drunk, maniacal speed demon trying to satisfy its hunger for maximum velocity (Click! hehehe). It is almost suicidal (another click! O.o). That is not what's off though. What is strange about this situation is that the others do not seem to mind at all. No scolding. No complaining. No begging for the lengthening of their existence on the planet.

And where in the world are those pathetic excuse for adversaries that usually, somehow manage find them every turn? One had come to expect them to appear at every nook and cranny. They had always been a source of entertainment for these westbound travelers. Most of the time, that is. But today it seems that these miserable pests are avoiding the group. Something seemed to tell them, whether instinct or reason, that it would be folly to approach, block or chase this particular jeep at this particular moment. Not if they value their wretched little hides. There is this particular aura that hangs around the vehicle that seems to send a warning that spells something akin to the sign "Flammable. Do not smoke within 50 feet." Nobody dare come near. Not even that redheaded, blue-eyed youkai prince and his little gang of misfits. Not at present time.

Meanwhile, two figures huddled uncomfortably in the backseat of the jeep sat quietly and by some wonder uncomplainingly, for the first time it seems, as if lost in deep thought. Which was an odd thing because it was contrary to the opinion of a certain cranky someone who had always believed that these two have not been given that part of the anatomy used for any intellectual purpose. Their usually expressive face held unreadable masks that are alien the respective owners.

The red headed one on the left stares down the horizon under heavy lids, with unseeing crimson eyes. His handsome face that normally have that carefree, flirtatious countenance now hold that uncommon faraway look tat one almost never sees. Dreaming. Rationalizing. Cursing.

Beside him a smaller golden-eyed boy burrowed himself further into the thick gray blanket draped around his form. His downcast eyes were slightly red, probably due to the warm, dry, sand-filled wind that unmercifully blows suddenly every now and then. As if by some miracle his stomach seemed to have forgotten its incessant whining for nutritional appeasement… or maybe his brain is too busy to hear it. Trying to believe. To understand. To cope.

As for the driver, he seemed to be driving blind actually judging from that surreal pace that he is going as he maneuvers the wheel and clutching at it in an iron grip. His expression as inscrutable as always. There is almost nothing to read in his face except when one looks in his eyes. They convey too many emotions burning all at once that those beautiful orbs almost seemed cold, frozen. Like the rest, he too, is lost in dreamtime. Recollecting. Reflecting. Questioning. Cursing.

In that eerie air of unfamiliar silence, everyone in that small brown jeep has an idea about what it is that the other was thinking. There is only one topic that their minds are focused on at this time. They are mulling over it in their heads. And for the moment, they respect that need to be left alone. They understand. Or at least try to. There is nothing they can do about it anyway. They have to deal with the situation on their own for now. Or maybe for always. Who knows?

On the whole, there is that particular sensation in the hangs in the atmosphere. So thick, one can almost touch it.

Feelings of loss. Of regrets. Of helplessness. Of grief.

And even…

Of anger. Of resentment. Of disappointment.

Maybe it's because the passenger seat is strangely empty today. The familiar figure who either sleeps or reads one of those outdated newspapers is not there. That scene will probably not happen again for a long time. If ever. But there is always that sliver of hope against all hopes that one day it might still…

But that splinter of optimism isn't around today as everyone sat there brooding on their own while zooming through the middle of that scorching, desiccated land. The driver and its two passengers…

Yes. The driver and his two passengers.

Of the four that set off in the beginning of this journey, only three of the company remained on the road that day.

And the final thing that is out of the ordinary?

Well…

The driver is blonde.

End chapter… tsuzuku?

A/N: Errr… so guess who's not in this picture?

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read! Ya think I should continue? or I should just stop? hate it? like it? please let me know. Am I really getting worse?

I'm not a consistent writer and probably will never be. hehehe.

Is this one of those cliché stuff? I don't know… no idea as to what to do with this yet…

hmmm… I'm so bad.

Oh well. Comments, suggestions, the works. Please R&R. Please? Please!

Til next week (hopefully)…

Ja, ne…: )


	2. Chapter 1 the Journal

Disclaimer: I'm getting tired of this… I don't own Saiyuki, okay?

A/N: Aww… I still have readers… Thanks so much you guys… Here's a hug…

Ah…Totemo gomenasai ne. Sorry it took a while… just got out of a really tiring life… : )

Anyway here's chapter 1…

Plain, simple, brooding, and…

I don't know if you're gonna like it… so just please read and review… then, you may throw those rotten tomatoes at me afterwards (hehehe…)

Lost by Kage Kurokawa

Chapter I The Journal

A cool breeze blew softly from outside. The sun is well hidden beyond the veil of clouds. It was hard to believe that only yesterday, three people were roving down a hot, harsh, dry desert terrain all day on a small brown army jeep. By nightfall they had crossed the desert and entered through a forest, where the company had spent an uneventful night, in unfamiliar silence and continued on their way before dawn. By morning they have reached a village beyond the forest and settled at a small, cozy looking inn within the village. People curiously stared and peeked at the newcomers as they find it quite strange that these people arrived from the direction of the barren lands of the east. Folks in this area are quite suspicious of strangers nowadays, with all the rumours of violent youkai activity spreading all over the place. So far, this small town has been spared, townspeople are living a relatively peaceful existence and are ever so grateful to the gods.

And thus, once they realized that one of the foreigners that came to their humble little town was none other than the highest ranking monk of their faith, they begged him to give a sermon at the village square. Which was of course met with a scowl, a glare and an adamant dismissal from a certain blonde sutra bearing priest before rudely taking off to the nearest village inn leaving behind a stunned and disappointed crowd that slowly dispersed while muttering about proper manners and arrogant monks. Said arrogant monk went straight to the counter, got a key, stormed off, and locked himself in his room, as his two still mute companions walked with heavy steps, baggage and dragon in tow, oblivious to their surroundings. Pretty girls passing and crimson eyes never even dared take a glance. Spicy aroma from a dining room seemingly failed to entice a certain monkey boy. Into the inn they go, stacking their stuff and going back to their own little world of brooding thoughts. It may take a while yet before they wake up from their present dream woven reality. Let them sleep some more…

Inside one room, something not quite right seems hangs in the atmosphere despite the cheery looking décor of bright hues and pale mint green paint covering the wall. The bed is neatly made in white and yellow sheets where two small bags lay, hastily dumped by their carrier. Beside the bed was a small coffee table by the window, with two crafted wooden chairs accenting it. One of the chairs was occupied by one stubborn figure with the sun kissed hair.

Violet eyes looked blankly out the window of a room. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke clouds the air around that seated, solitary, half-robed figure in a tight fitting black top and gloves. Several crushed beer cans and forgotten half empty one lay at the nearby table together with the remaining stubs of used nicotine sticks carelessly tossed beside an unused ashtray. Pale hands gripped a small open notebook atop a white-clothed lap. The black leather covering still fairly new. Violet ink covered the ashen pages with characters legibly written despite the hasty strokes. Yes. It is a journal.

It was a journal.

The opened page was dated a week back. It read:

_Entry XOX _

_We are at a nice little town by a river. Sanzo insists that we continue at once by daybreak tomorrow. Or is it today already? It's so beautiful here. The river is such a calming place to visit. Gojyo, tells me that there are a lot of beautiful women around here. Poor guy, that's all he seems to notice about a place. I wonder where he's gone off to tonight? Ah, probably off to his midnight escapades. I never really got the hang of that. Goku's most likely asleep. In deep sleep, no doubt. Dreaming of food and fight. I could almost envy him. M poor little abused pet is asleep too. Currently took possession of my bed. Oh well, he's gonna need his strength for tomorrow. I wonder what a dragon dreams of? The night is so quiet here. I swear I could almost hear the river's current flowing steadily in the night. I wonder what Sanzo is doing?_

_Maybe he's asleep. That is however quite unlikely. Not when the midnight stars are beckoning to be gazed upon. Ah, what am I saying? If I didn't know better, I'd say Sanzo's probably cursing his insomnia instead of looking at the heavens. I can just picture him now… and am smiling at the thought._

_Ah, Sanzo, Sanzo, Sanzo. Why am I thinking of you in the middle of the night? You'd probably finally find a reasonable excuse kill me when you find out. At last I'll be at the receiving end of that fine exorcising gun of yours. I must say it's a fine piece of work, that gun. You pay more care and attention to it than you would to the rest of the world._

_You know, I find it quite surprising, really. These past few nights that I couldn't sleep, I find myself haunted by the piercing gaze of those amethyst eyes. And strangely I find a sense of comfort at the thought of drowning into them… it's disturbing. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Not with you for heaven's sake!_

_But irony of ironies, I find myself having the weirdest of fates._

_Oh, look at me, talking with you on my journal. Silly Hakkai. Can't talk to the real thing, thus satisfying his delusional self to conversing with a piece of paper. Isn't it funny?_

_Anyhow, I find myself wondering just now… which is better: awake with this impossible daydream or asleep with those vicious nightmares?_

_Yes. The nightmares. For some reason, they are back. For about a week and a half now. Maybe longer. I don't know why they are back. Sometimes I can't even remember having them. All I remember is being jolted awake, panting, and sweating. My chest feels tight. Once or twice I woke up with tears in my eyes. But can't fully recall the dreams. Bits and pieces here and there. Nothing really coherent._

_All I see is darkness. Then sounds, images, sensations…_

_Of screams._

_Of blood._

_Of pain._

_Of broken glass._

_Of me being ripped apart._

_Of bells softly jingling._

_I see a shadow. Of who or what I do not know. It's too obscure._

_Everything else seems to be so vivid, I could almost swear it was real._

_Then nothing._

_It's like being forcibly pulled in the middle of feeling a sensation that I could almost scream. I recall doing just that in my sleep. But no ever really come out._

_And everything else feels empty._

_I feel so drained._

_Should I tell someone of these nightmares? Gojyo? He wont know what to do with me, he'll probably worry too much. I wouldn't want that. Goku? I do not think he'll understand. That leaves me with…_

_Sanzo… He'll probably tell me to mind my own business. Besides, I believe he has his own nightmares to deal with…_

_Ah it's almost dawn. I'd better get even just a bit of shut eye. Or Sanzo's going to go ballistic if I fall asleep on the wheel later. It's going to be quite a long drive. Maybe the nightmares won't come today…_

_I hope._

End of entry.

A soft breeze once again entered the window carrying with it one small green leaf that fell in the on the opened page of the journal. Violet eyes slowly losing that glazed faraway look. He looked down on the notebook on his lap and slowly loosened his grip. Picking up the stray leaf, he scanned the page again. Digesting once more its contents. He held the leaf before his eyes and stared at it intently for a moment.

"But the nightmares did continue," An uncharacteristically soft voice spoke. "Until such a time that they were bad dream no longer."

He placed the leaf once more upon the journal.

"They didn't leave you alone did they…"

The journal was closed, the leaf pressed against the pages.

"You should have just… baka…"

The sound of a can opening. A cigarette being lit.

"Now it's too late."

Fresh smoke billowing in the air. There are two half empty beer cans on the table.

"Hakkai."

And the afternoon wore on. Cool wind blowing softly to and fro…

And somewhere, far beyond the horizon. In darkness. Unseen. Unheard. A scream pierced the still air…

End Chapter 1

A/N: So guess who owns the journal… man, I'm so corny. I really do need to take those writing classes when I get the free time… after about ten years… so for now I guess you're stuck with what I can dish out… sorry… (hehehe) (bad Kage!)

This fic has seemingly turned out to be centered (understatement!) once again on my favorite chara… guess?

So what do you think? Stop? Continue? Or what? R&R. Onegaishimasu. Please.You know… the common things… comments, suggestions, questions… reactions (violent or otherwise)… the usual stuff…

Author trying to prepare for an onslaught of flying objects…

Happy Holidays minna san!!!

Ja mata… : )


	3. Chapter 2 Darkness Falls

Disclaimer: Saiyuki is mine only in my dreams… sigh… reality sucks…

A/N: Hello minna san! Thought I'd abandoned this fic? Nah… I always try to finish what I started… LOST just got lost in the clutter inside my chaotic mind... I just found it again tonight… oh well… Thank ever so much for all the reviews! Hope you'll review this one… i still love 8338...

to answerpast reviews...if the reviewers are still reading:

To Rasinah, Water Sprite, and Lala thank you!

To Liz: errr... well part of your question is answered here...

To Akito-kun: it okay... i don't get myself most of the time either...

Here goes...

LOST

By Kage Kurokawa

Chapter 02 Darkness Falls

Blood. There is blood on his hands.

It's been so long since he saw blood dripping freely on his long slender fingers.

It felt so good.

So exhilarating.

So free.

It's been ages since he had felt the crimson liquid bathe his body, soaking through his clothes.

He can still hear their screams. He savored their agony. He looked deep into their fear filled eyes, as they realized their impending gloom. How soft they felt as his sharpened claws dug deep into their pliant flesh.

So weak.

So pathetic.

It was almost beautiful.

They had been so trusting.

So warm.

So helpful.

Didn't they know that a random, disheveled, weary strangers knocking on the door at a house in the middle of a forest deep into the night is quite suspicious?

Well, humans are so fallible.

It had been too easy, he was almost bored. Almost.

The old man was a bit dubious at first. But then of course seeing such a helpless-looking man, all worn out and injured, with such a pretty and wholesome face he just had to help. After all he couldn't leave this poor stranger to the mercy of those evil and merciless youkais.

His wife had been charmed almost on sight. Her heart went out at the sorry state that their midnight guest was in. She fretted over the handsome green-eyed stranger, bringing out the water, cleaning his wounds, despite the fact that she had just been woken from a fitful sleep. He was fed and clothed.

He should feel guilty.

Should.

But not quite.

He is a hunter. And they are his prey. It is a law of nature that they should die. Not that they had many years left anyway. They were bound for the afterlife. He just showed them a shortcut.

He licked his bloody hands clean before rummaging through the small hut. It place was sparsely furnished, but there are some salvageable stuff. He started towards the bedroom.

He found a small chest by the foot of the unmade bed. It contained the husband's clothes.

He inspected the articles of clothing, and frown a bit.

The old man's clothes are quite loose. And they are short. At least they are clean. They'll just have to do for now.

He casually walked into a small bathroom and shed his shabby clothes. The remains of the tattered green shirt fell first. Then the dirty khaki pants. Then everything else left.

There was plenty of water to go around.

Ah, there's a mirror here.

He peered at it with curious eyes. Not too bad.

His reflection stared back at him with green eyes and lips widening into a smile, fangs and all.

Humans would call that smile creepy.

He's got blood on his cheeks. They cover some small intricate markings on the right side of his face. They weren't visible before.

His brown hair is in a rumpled mess atop his head and onto his neck. Some are clumping together with the drying, blood.

His eyes are deep green, having a wild, sharp look in them.

He looks scary.

Chuckling, he moved on.

Examining his body, he noticed that he's got a long scar on his firm stomach, marring an otherwise flawless, lean, slim frame. Has it always been there?

He can't remember.

His skin is not dark. Not too light.

Noticing something that peeked out from the pocket of his pants he reached down to pick it up. It was one of the three clips that he had removed from his ear earlier. He got hold of the remaining two as well.

He remembered that soft, lulling voice that told him to take them off. That he will be much more comfortable when they are off.

Right now he felt that he needed to put them back on for some reason.

After staring at the silver metals for a minute or two, he replaced them back into their original position.

He felt a tingle on his face and saw the markings fade away gradually. Emerald green looked back with a more tamed look. The harsh smile turned into a soft charming one as the sharp fangs receded dramatically. His hear also seemed shorter.

His reflection looked so amiable.

So gentle. As if it was made to charm the hardest of people.

Perfect.

He still has blood on his cheeks, on his arms and on other parts of his anatomy..

He needs that bath.

Grinning, he turned to do just that.

As the soothing water did its job, he lapsed into a reverie of some sort.

Everything had been quite a blur. He had no memory of his life. He only knows that he exists. Nothing else. Over the passing of days he reckoned that he knew a lot of things. Like what that thing is called, or sometimes even why it is called that way. He knew the name of lot of things plants or animals or object. He knew about day and night. A lot of other information. But he cannot recall his name. Until this evening.

All this time he felt uncannily liberated. And there was this strong urge to tear apart something.

And tear things he did. It started with the plants. Then some insects.

Then it was a rabbit.

Then a fox.

Then a boar.

And now…

Ah. If only he knew why.

All he could remember was his name.

A name that he only knew this evening.

A voice in his head whispered it to him.

A low, hushing voice on the border of humming.

It said his name was Gonou.

His name was Gonou.

Cho Gonou.

That's what the voice said to him.

He is Cho Gonou and he is a hunter.

He must find himself some prey.

xxx

He breathes heavily as he was given temporary reprieve.

There was only darkness.

There was only pain.

There was only emptiness.

That's all he had known. For hours. For days.

Weeks? Months? Years?

Eons.

He has no more concept of time.

The silence that surrounds him is only broken by his screams when the pain comes.

Where does the pain come from? He wonders when his mind is coherent enough. That hot, searing ache that penetrates all the way to the marrow of his bones, where does it originate?

What has he done to deserve this?

Why him?

There are no voices. He had never heard anyone but himself. He could feel no presence. He felt utterly alone. But he cannot move his limbs. His hands are bound stretched out above his head by some thing hard. Likes he was chained. His feet bound together and anchored by something heavy he cannot feel any solid ground.

He feels blind. He does not know how to distinguish consciousness from dreams. Everything is pitch-black.

He had forgotten what its like to be hungry. He never seemed to have anything solid to intake. His thirst is only quenched by some bitter draught that seemed to rain on him every now and again. What is was, he couldn't tell.

What is happening to him?

The pain comes in varying degrees. Sometimes beginning from a dull ache or a cold breeze progressing sometimes slowly, sometimes abruptly into something burning hot like everything is on fire. Sometimes it would be as if he was pierced with hundreds of needles or even knives at a time. Sometimes the pain would be as if he was being cut open, at times as if he is being pulled too tight. Sometimes it's comes from the outside, sometimes from the very depths of his innards. Sometimes it's suffocating. Sometimes he's drowning.

He is broken.

His flow of thoughts is broken. His memories are now obscured.

His name was Hakkai.

That's all he knew.

That's all he could remember.

That's all that he could cling on to.

Oh wait.

There's also Sanzo.

It was often the word that he would shout out when the pain becomes too much.

Sanzo, Sanzo, Sanzo.

He thinks Sanzo is a person.

But his name is Hakkai, isn't it?

He is not Sanzo.

His name is Hakkai.

Who is Sanzo?

A gasp of pain escapes his lips as a wave pain comes back again.

Somebody please stop the pain!

But there's no one there.

No one's ever there.

It doesn't really ever stop.

It only retreats.

And prepare for fresh onslaughts.

He screams.

But his voice is lost sometime ago.

A long time ago.

There are only silent screams now.

And for the first time in all the seeming eternity that he was in this wretched place, a foreign sound reached his ears amidst the pain.

It seemed faint. But it was there.

A soft jingling of bells.

It faded a moment later.

Sanzo, Sanzo, Sanzo.

These were his last thoughts…

He falls into the void.

End Chapter 02

A/N: What have I done now? Ahh… forgive the cliffie… this took two and a half hours to write… I'm tired its almost three in the morning…

now that i've retrieved my plot... i'll update regularly every week or two

Hate it? Like it? Questions?

Please review…

Uh….

Are you still there?

Helloo?

Minna san?

Anyone?

Sigh… like anyone would read…

I'll just sleep what remains of the night away…

Ja.


End file.
